Tick, tock, tick, tock,
Ś It's five minutes to twelve.
Another year up on a shelf
left to gather dust and accumulate regret.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
It has almost struck two.
My thoughts are as disassembled
as the trafficked streets we pass through.
The dawn of a new year lends a sweeter vibrance to our city.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
It's almost four am.
I realised our sorrows are produced
mostly in our heads.
We seldom allow ourselves to be happy.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
It's nearly six o'clock.
The sun is slow to rise up.
It's hiding beneath the ocean waves.
It clearly shares my anticipation
for the next 365 days.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
our friends and foes, our passions and chores, our achievements and failures
are merely the hands on our own
personal clocks.
Our own personalised grains of sand
in an hourglass
trying, striving to find the best and most enjoyable way
to make our time run out.